Passion Fruit
by LiteratiAngel
Summary: “You’re sure?” It was one tiny little sentence. Two insignificant words. Yet it meant the world to Chuck Bass.' All about how the Victor/Victrola limo scene led to Chuck/Blair. One-shot. Some smut-ish references in places. Reviews equal lurve!


**Passion Fruit**

**Disclaimer: Ha! I wish!**

**Disclaimer Take Two: I don't own _'Kiwi'_, it belongs to the awesome band that is Maroon 5.  
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**A/N: This is just a little fic idea that popped into my head a couple of months ago when I was re-watching Victor/Victrola and it just wouldn't go away so I had to write it. I love the song _'Kiwi'_ and it just fitted perfectly with the limo scene, so I ended up using it as a stimulus. It was interesting trying to write from Chuck's POV. He kinda writes himself in a way but I'm still hoping that I haven't totally screwed him up!**

**A/N Take Two: I'll shut up after this...honest! All reviews are greatly appreciated so, once you've finished reading this, have a go at pushing that purdy li'l button at the bottom of the page. Still not tempted? Sure? There might be some juicy gossip (or Bendels goodies) in it for you...(I kid unfortunately...I have nothing interesting to tell anyone and I certainly can't afford _anything_ from Bendels! xD)**

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_But it's so strange, it's something new  
Amazing feelings that I have for you  
I close my eyes when I'm alone  
Wonder what it'd be like to make you moan_

_**Kiwi - Maroon 5**  
_

"_You're sure?"_

It was one tiny little sentence. Two insignificant words. Yet it meant the world to Chuck Bass.

He knew he'd made the right move. For Blair Waldorf, sex isn't something to be rushed. It has to be carefully considered, pro/con lists have to be compiled, the suitor has to be romantic and careful and all the things that you'd expect from the knight in shining armour who plans to storm the castle and relinquish the Waldorf princess from her heavily guarded chastity belt.

Yet here she was, slinking across the back of his limo, pawing at him. The second their lips touched, it was as if his whole life had been a rehearsal. Crackling electricity flowed through every inch of him as he realised what it meant. What he'd seen up on the stage at Victrola wasn't Blair Waldorf. Not the Blair Waldorf _he_ knew, anyway. Not the Waldorf princess, or the marriage hopes of the Archibald heir. She was _his_ version of Blair. The one who visited him in his dreams when he couldn't push his thoughts away as forbidden fruit. The one who danced and drank and dressed (or _un_dressed) just for him. Free from inhibitions and the stick that's firmly shoved up her perfectly formed ass.

Talking during sex is overrated. That's Chuck Bass' number one rule and yet, with Blair, the rules didn't seem to matter. They didn't talk as everything slipped away from them, not even when his teeth caught on her neck and she purred in his ear. It wasn't because it was overrated; it was just because it wasn't _necessary_-their movements said it all. He'd never been with anyone who moulded into him as perfectly as she did. It got to the point when he couldn't decipher where he ended and she began. He liked it.

That was something else that made sex with Blair different; he _liked_ it. It wasn't that he'd hated sex every time with every girl. If he hated it, he wouldn't have done it. The thing was, though, as much as he might have _enjoyed_ sex, he never _liked_ it that much. Sex, for him, was a necessity, a survival instinct; as much as he needed to eat, sleep and breathe, he needed to have sex. It was part of who he was. Without sex, _"I'm Chuck Bass"_ was a bit of a redundant statement. Without sex, _"I'm Chuck Bass"_ would be kind of like saying _"I'm Dan Humphrey"_. Of course, Blair had seemingly relieved him of the need to eat, sleep and breathe (or she was certainly trying her best, anyway), so that left just one carnal desire; sex and oh boy was she doing her best to make sure that his needs in that department were filled to capacity…

He knew that he might live to regret this; his extraction of the wilder side of the purest Upper East Side heiress, but he couldn't tear himself away from the thought of his prize waiting for him when he reached…_the finish line_…however crude or uncaring that may sound.

His thoughts only strayed to his best friend once. _Nate._ What would he think about his best friend taking his only-just-ex-girlfriend's virginity in the back of a moving vehicle just minutes after urging her to perform a strip-tease in his bordello, just hours after she and Nate had broken up. It was a hopeless mess, but it was a mess that he couldn't get himself out of even if he wanted to. The fact remained that if he stopped to think about Nate, his opportunity would have been lost but the sin would already be halfway committed…and Chuck Bass was never a man to leave a sin unfinished.

The scent of her hair, as it swished away from her face to allow him access to her mouth, was perfectly intoxicating in a way that no alcohol could ever have achieved. It smelt like passion fruit; that sickeningly sweet, yet juicily tangy scent colouring the air that separated them. It covered the aroma of desperation emanating from him; he hated it but he couldn't resist its heady, overpowering sensation. That feeling of being totally powerless, of giving yourself entirely to someone else; he'd never done that before but he knew that he was powerless to stop her; whatever she wanted, he'd give her, no matter what it cost him.

…

And it _would_ cost him. In the year that passed between their encounter in the back of his limo and the beginning of their _relationship_, Chuck Bass unravelled. He felt jealousy in a way that he never knew was possible; that gnawing in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw Nate or _Marcus_ put an arm around her, kiss her, hold her. He used up all his tried-and-tested tricks to relieve the tension that he felt, but failed in every attempt. She was a veritable ice queen and had an army of rejection at her beck and call.

He finally caught her. The death of his father made her show her true colours; her love for him hanging in the air between them; a tangible salute to the end of their game-playing. But in his grief, he let it slip through his fingers. On that New York rooftop, he balanced on a knife-edge, waiting for the end. But she brought him down. She always brought him down; whether it was bringing him down from a ledge, or bringing him down from his own egotistical pedestal. He only wished that he could've done the same for her. Seeing her with that slimeball, Carter Baizen, was just too much for him to deal with; it wasn't Blair…it wasn't _right._

He would have told her at the party; the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. But he couldn't. _Jack_, his own uncle! Did she have no taste? No discernment? Or did she just have a taste for the Bass men? It cut him deeper than he dared to show; he loved her, but this felt like the ultimate betrayal.

In the end, love overcame pride. She followed him all across Europe in one form or another, despite the fact that it was her that he was frantically trying to escape. It took a lot to accept that Chuck Bass was waiting outside a hotel for a woman he'd already bedded and discarded. Waiting for a reprieve? Waiting for a chance to be honest for once in his mendacious life.

"_You were right."_

It was one tiny little sentence. Three insignificant words. Yet it meant the world to Chuck Bass.


End file.
